


Silence is Bliss

by VermontScribble



Category: The Lion King (1994)
Genre: Aftermath of an Accident, Alternate Universe - Human, Car Accidents, Character Death, Funeral, Headcanon, Other, Purple Prose, elaborate descriptions, life goes on - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VermontScribble/pseuds/VermontScribble
Summary: Scar gets away with an atrocity. Those who helped can't help but feel guilty. Those who knew Mufasa look on in great loss.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 3





	Silence is Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> A very sad, descriptive little story I wrote after some one prompted me to outline a character death that hurt me as a child. Mufasa's death still throws me, and I can't help but want to write more interesting things for the Lion King. Of course, here I decided to make the story set in a human world in which Mufasa's death was a planned accident. I may write more stories linking to this about each character's coping method and how they deal with it. I may even find the energy to write about the characters involved. For now, however, enjoy this rather sad, silent story.

Silence was honorable to the dead. A hymn for their goodbyes, followed by the sweet sound of bitter, unbroken tears. God knows the dead are his, but everyone is sure hell has their numbers, too. It’s a sweet sentiment to think of, of course. That is why, when Mufasa died one evening in a horrible accident, the silence was unbearable. 

He was a leader, a ruler and a good man. He was full of light and joy that no one could compare to, even in the bad times. He was a natural born ray of sunshine with a heart of gold. Even when he was angry, even when he was sad, those radiant lights burnt out brighter than the sun. 

When Mufasa died, the church was full of cries. Full of pained sobs. Full of declarations of honour and those of guilt, too. People remembered the good times and the honour of the great Mufasa. His wife sat at the front, tears in her bright green eyes. Beside her, Simba, crying like any child would. He thought this was his fault. Any child would. 

Even Zazu lowered his head and tried to keep a soft dignity. It was hard to look posh and haughty when tears were streaming down one’s face uncontrollably. He had a handkerchief to his mouth, whispering words of regret. He thought this was his fault, too. He thought he hadn’t been careful enough, that he hadn't warned Mufasa of the dangers that evening. 

One person sat there with a grin. A terrible thing to do when a family member had passed. Scar, grinning like a sinner with a glint of pride in his eyes. He knew this was his doing, and he was disgusting enough to be proud of his evil deeds. He barely batted an eyelid. No tears fell down his cheeks, no sad words left his lips. Yet, Scar had been one of the speakers to honour Mufasa. He had honoured his brother, yet he knew all along he had committed this act of cruelty. He knew he had, and he was proud of it. 

* * *

“Mufasa was a friend, a father, a leader and an honorable man,” Sarabi said, standing, addressing the onlookers. She glanced at the coffin, trying to keep from crying. She had been before, but now, she needed to be strong. 

“He was everything to me. He was Simba’s father, Zazu’s leader and my friend. He was my world. I just hope that heaven has plans for him. He was honorable, grateful and genuine. I will continue to love the memory of him, but he would have wanted us to try to move on, I know that. So, please, remember his good times, and try to move on, like he would have wanted,” Sarabi finished, taking her place back on the pews. Everyone was silent, considering the words of Mufasa’s now widowed wife. He would have wanted people to move on. Mufasa was always looking forward to the brighter days and the better weather. He was always anticipating the weekends and the days ahead with joy. 

No one spoke for a while, reminiscing in what Mufasa was like to them. How wonderful of a man he had been. How kind, how sweet and how outspoken he was. Zazu remembered how he always trusted him with every little document, Sarabi remembered how loving he had been. Simba remembered the joyful days of playing football and messing around. They were the good days, the happy past. Now all they had to do was to continue on into the future. 

* * *

“It is a tragedy what happened to poor Mufasa. However, we shall do as he requested and honour his dying wishes. We shall continue on, and I shall take over for him. He will be greatly missed, but I will honour who he was,” Scar said. He knew just what he had done, but he felt no remorse for his actions. His heart was not broken by the loss of his brother, his head did not hurt from all the tears. He never shed a single one. 

“I understand his loss is hard to bear, but I can assure you all that his legacy will be continued. With me and with his son,” Scar finished. He sat down with no worries coming to him. He sat there with no pain wracking him, no guilt, no anger, no fear, no sadness. After all, it was him who had put the accident into play. Beside him, Shenzi sat quietly, wondering if what he had done was right. Clad in black from head to toe with a mask over her face. To hide the blood on her lips, to hide the gash on her chin. She had been a part of this cruel tragedy. 

On the other side, sat Zira, holding a small boy in her lap. He was confused, dazed and wondered why Kion no longer wanted to be his friend. Kion was Simba’s little cousin. A sweet little boy, who, too, was crying for his beloved uncle to miraculously come back. It hurt to see him so distraught. Zira wondered if she had done the right thing. She had been a part of this cruel tragedy. 

Even at the back of the pews, people Scar had never met before were sitting weeping. One face he recognised from his childhood. Zuzu. A sweet woman who never doubted his nor Mufasa’s abilities. She was everything he remembered her to be. Long hair tied back with the usual clips, lips filled with a dark shade of expensive (no doubt) lipstick and a wood like smell around her. He could only imagine, though, as he was nowhere near her radiance. 

“Scar,” Zira whispers. Mostly everyone is standing, looking to the coffin with cold eyes, tears staining their perfect faces. Sarabi was holding on to Simba’s hand, watching as her sister, Sherehe, took Kion along quietly. It was a day for great sadness. Everyone sighs sadly, watching as the procession went onward.

No more tears left to cry, most of the mourners had turned to remembering the good things Mufasa had brought to them in the prime of his life. Simba thought of all those fun games his father would play. Zazu looked around, thinking of the good advice. Sarabi, well, she just thought of what came next. She thought of what Mufasa wanted. She thought of everything she could.And she knew then what she needed to do. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you did find this as heart-wrenching as I attempted to make it, please note I have my Tumblr inbox open at all times for any requests. You may send them anonymously (or not) to: vermontwrites.   
> Thank you to those who read this and leave feedback. Your comments and kudos guarantee me continuing my work and writing more for you to enjoy (or cry at).


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